


make me feel (so weak)

by intimatopia



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Blindfolds, Body Worship, Dom/sub, Kink, M/M, POV Multiple, schmoopy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15880956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/intimatopia/pseuds/intimatopia
Summary: He shouldn’t have waited so long before calling Jeff.





	make me feel (so weak)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [transreyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/transreyn/gifts).



> HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIZELLE

Kent ached. Stupidly. He shouldn’t have waited so long before calling Jeff, but he had, and now he was sitting in an empty locker room staring at his own hands, wondering how they could have ever held anything, let alone hit the GWG in the sixth round of the playoffs.

This late in the season, his body felt like a bruise. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do with himself under these circumstances. It was why he’d started going to Jeff in the first place. So that just for a few hours, he wouldn’t have to  _ think. _

But he kept mucking it up. They had a contract. They’d both signed NDAs. He was supposed to call Jeff when he felt himself spiralling. Instead he’d waited, convinced himself he could get through this alone despite strong evidence to the contrary.

He’d call Jeff when he went home

 

:::

 

Jeff didn’t like hockey. He’d loved it, once, but he had seen what it had done to his older brother and he wanted no part of that. These days the only games he watched were the ones the Aces were playing.

He was in the kitchen serving himself a plate when Kent scored. He came back to replays, watched Kent’s brittle smile and slightly jerky movements, and checked his phone for missed calls. There were none—he’d called his mom earlier today, and his brother in the morning. He had his rituals and he stuck to them. 

Kent didn’t have any rituals. In a superstitious sport, Kent worked hard to be ruthlessly logical, to prove he didn’t need luck to get where he was.

Jeff had put him down often enough to know it wasn’t ambition so much as fear that drove Kent. Fear of what would happen if he didn’t have hockey, fear of what would happen if he was ever completely alone. Jeff had put him down often enough that he knew what made Kent tick, where he’d break first.

This was a breaking point, here. A game winning goal. Kent had always crashed hard after he flew high. 

If he didn’t call Jeff by tonight, he’d let himself into Kent’s apartment. He had a key, and that damn cat loved him for some godforsaken reason. Kent seemed to think it was cute. Jeff knew that Kent had terrible judgement when it came to boys and cats. His first boyfriend had been a dickhead of the kind that made Jeff want to punch teeth, and his cat was a monstrous asshole with a vendetta against the whole of humanity. Except Kent and Jeff.

His phone rang.

 

:::

 

Kent had to clench his hands to stop them from shaking, never a good sign. He’d done it, he’d called Jeff. Jeff’s voice had been warm and sweet in his ear, talking him through walking to his car, and all the way to turning the key in the ignition, but then he had cut the call with a promise to be there as soon as he could, and Kent had gone back to feeling cold and empty and shaky, just a little bit worse now that he had a recent memory of softness.

Jeff was waiting for him inside—he’d fed Kit already, and she was purring in his lap like the great big goober she was. Kent felt a rush of warmth at the sight of them together.

Jeff smiled at him, and the warmth shuddered and grew. “Ready to begin our scene?”

Kent nodded, slipping under already. Jeff was suddenly close to him, his hands gentle on Kent’s face as he tilted Kent’s head up, guiding their mouths together.

Nobody had ever kissed Kent the way Jeff always did, tender and ruinously thorough. It felt like being filled up sweet gold, his blood turning amber under the heady rush of it all, the careful perfection of it. Kent kissed back clumsily, trying to match Jeff even though he knew he couldn’t (and that was, perhaps, half the joy of it for him; that Jeff didn’t expect Kent to do well at all, that he could fall and fail as many times as he needed to in order to trust that somebody would always catch him. And Jeff had never let him down.)

Kent whined when Jeff pulled away, too dazed to think, trying to chase his lips. Jeff held him away with a hand on his chest, and guided him unerringly to their—his bedroom. 

“How about a blindfold?” Jeff murmured as he walked Kent. “You’d have trust that I’ll guide you, and I know how hard that is for you. But you like hard, don’t you? You love it.”

Kent keened, stupidly eager. He didn’t think about words, or thinking—Jeff knew what he meant, could read him, and wouldn’t hurt him with that knowledge. That was all he needed right now. That was all he needed,  _ ever _ . 

“I know,” Jeff said. “I know, baby. Kept yourself waiting too long again, didn’t you? I know. I forgive you, love.”

Kent thrilled at every word, but  _ love _ hit him somewhere so deep he pushed instinctively into Jeff’s chest, trying to hide from it. 

Jeff didn’t let him. Jeff pulled him away, stroked his hair, kissed him until he felt safe again. Until Jeff had no trouble at all manhandling Kent into bed and taking off his clothes, an act suffused with so much care that Kent wanted to cry, a little bit.

He didn’t realise he was hard until he saw his cock bounce up, red and leaking at the tip. Couldn’t tell, for a minute, how it was possible to be aroused when an orgasm was quite literally the last thing on his mind—what he needed right now was attention and intimacy, and if that came with orgasms he’d take it, but it wasn’t necessary. And some days it felt better without, anyway.

Jeff came back with a strip of dark cloth. He tied it around Kent’s eyes with brisk efficiency, checked that no light came through, and directed him to lie down on the bed.

Everything felt syrupy slow and quiet, the buzzing in his head completely gone. Kent was floating, safe, and nothing mattered as much as Jeff and his voice, telling Kent what to do.

 

:::

 

Jeff loved Kent like this—loved Kent when he was slipping under so fast Jeff had to scramble to keep up, when he trusted Jeff so absolutely that Jeff almost felt scared and unworthy of it, if not for the insulating arrogance of topspace keeping him alert and careful and everything Kent needed. Loved him all the time, but only let himself feel it when he had Kent exactly where he wanted, safe and away from everything that could possibly hurt him.

“Listen to me,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “Sweetheart. Listen, okay?”

Kent nodded. “Yeah?”

Jeff swallowed. Kent was so fucking beautiful, his body all sharp grace and muscle, too bruised during the playoffs because Kent had a penchant for fighting at odds with his 5’8” frame. There was something about all of that power under Jeff’s hands that gave him a rush to even think about. The reality was stunning. 

“I’m going to touch you,” Jeff said. “And when you start crying—well. No spoilers.”  _ When, _ not if. Kent always cried, overwhelmed by emotion and having no other place to let off steam. Jeff always let him. Why wouldn’t he? Kent needed it, and that was enough for him.

Kent made a soft sound at the words, but didn’t protest. 

Jeff started on Kent’s chest, sucking small kisses and bites into his skin. He flushed deep, always, and right now Kent’s flush went almost down to his stomach, down to his hard, dripping cock. For a second, Jeff’s attention wavered to his own dick—he was hard, even though he’d jerked off before getting here (jerked off to that beautiful goal—just because he didn’t like hockey didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate Kent’s brilliance at the game) He pulled himself back into the moment through sheer force of will, refocusing on Kent, on his hard pink nipples, and oh fuck. Jeff could do this all night, he could lean down and tease at the hard nubs until Kent squirmed and cried out.

So he did just that, letting his hands settle on Kent’s heaving flanks. Kent was making deliciously broken little moans, and Jeff relished it even as he abandoned Kent’s nipples to the cold air so he could kiss Kent’s stomach, all his hard skinny muscle. So he could spend a minute tracing his mouth over the shape of a bruise on Kent’s lower ribs—a hard hit in game four. 

Sometimes they did this loudly, Jeff talking Kent through it and doing his best to make Kent scream. Other days he let Kent pull into the safety of silence—he didn’t need vocal evidence that Kent was breaking down, not when the visual of it was so fucking gorgeous. And Kent  _ was _ breaking apart, going softer and more ragged at the edges with each brush of Jeff’s hands and mouth against his skin. 

Kent started to cry softly when Jeff reached his hips. Jeff didn’t blame him, only sat up so he could pet Kent until he calmed down, to see if he would calm down this time or if this was for real. Kent crying was a sign that the scene was winding down, and he usually wasn’t done so early.

Of course, he usually wasn’t quite so far gone before they started either. Jeff waited for Kent to wind down to small kitten-weak sobs, before leaning down to press a kiss to the head of his cock. 

Kent made a wild sound, half moan and half sob. Jeff took that as a sign to continue, sucking the tip of Kent’s cock into his mouth, letting himself relax into the taste and feel of giving head, letting himself settle into the rhythm of it. He reached absently for Kent’s hands where they were wound tight into the bedsheets so he wouldn’t do something he wasn’t supposed to—no matter what Kent liked to pretend, he didn’t fuck up as often as he thought he did. Kent had crazy high standards for himself: it had taken him far too long to even admit that he liked being allowed to fuck up during scenes, and even with blanket permission to do so that Jeff reiterated very week, he still pushed himself hard trying to be good for Jeff. Even though all Jeff really needed was Kent, as himself. Nothing more, ever.

But Jeff controlled the pace like this, and he loved that more than he’d ever admit. Kent came in his mouth with a hurt, punched out sound, like he was in pain. And he probably was—scenes like this were hard on him. Scenes where he didn’t have to do anything but be the center of attention. 

Jeff crawled up to kiss Kent, gathering him up and repositioning him so he could lean into jeff and sob himself out. He didn’t take off the blindfold—Kent felt a lot safer crying like this. Jeff didn’t have any way to tell how long Kent cried on him—it could’ve been hours or minutes. Jeff rubbed his back through it, stroked his hair gently until he had calmed down enough to try and talk to Jeff, and that was when Jeff reached for the thermos full of hot chocolate he’d left up here before Kent got in. He uncapped it, tipped small mouthfuls into Kent’s mouth until he could hold it for himself. Then he left to wash himself up, grabbed a some of crackers and cheese, and downed half a bottle of Gatorade by himself in the kitchen. He didn’t drop often, but if he did it would be after a scene like this. Better to be on the safe side. 

Kent had taken off the blindfold when Jeff came back in, setting the plate and the half-empty bottle on the bedside table. He was smiling slightly, loose and lax and incredibly pretty like this—mussed up, post sex. Even his hair was a mess, and Jeff had hardly touched it (not as much as he usually did, anyway).

“Hey,” Kent said. “Can I suck you off?”

Jeff rolled his eyes, even though his dick was  _ very  _ interested in the idea. He was too sleepy to come, and they couldn’t all be twenty-four and easy as hell. “Tomorrow,” he replied, trying to come off stern and landing mostly in fond. “And you can spend all day on your knees once the season’s done.”

Kent’s eyes brightened. “Also, you should sleep,” Jeff added. His eyes dimmed again, but they retained an edge of cunning. Jeff would probably wake up with Kent’s mouth on his dick. 

Which was not a bad way to wake up at all.


End file.
